


Heavy Petting

by Buttsuoka_Rin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsuoka_Rin/pseuds/Buttsuoka_Rin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>heav·y pet·ting (n.)<br/>Erotic contact between two people stopping short of intercourse.</p><p> </p><p>(or the 5 times Sherlock and John didn't quite have sex and the 1 time they did.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> This will have 6 (probably incredibly) short chapters because I am itching to upload something and I know I won't have it all written today. And the rating will change to Explicit.  
> Unbeta'd.

**1\. The Kitchen**

"Sherlock the door-"

"Hush John. Don't want Mrs. Hudson to hear us, do you?"

"You're bloody impossible!" John hisses, gasping as Sherlock slips a warm hand into his trousers and right under the waistband of his underwear with absolutely no warning. "Christ..."

"Well well well. What have we got here?" Sherlock grins against John's ear and presses his entire front against John's arse, letting John show just how interested he is. "Tell me, John, how long have you been like this?"

His voice is quiet, not unlike a purr. It makes deep, hot pleasure spike through John; this is so dirty and sneaky, doing this in the kitchen with the door wide open. And he's sure Mrs. Hudson has visitors at the moment. John decides he doesn't care the moment Sherlock's hand begins to move. The friction, the heat, the swipe of Sherlock's thumb over his head and pulling back his slick foreskin, it's enough to make John's knees weak. The only thing keeping him up is his white knuckled grip on the counter's edge and Sherlock practically _rutting_ against his backside.

"Well? You never answered my question." Sherlock laughs when he feels John shiver. "Washing dishes hardly makes you horny, does it?"

"No... You," John pauses to groan, then wets his lips and continues. "You came out of the shower with a - fuck, faster - little towel on." 

Sherlock has one hand wrapped around Johns middle. He slides his hands under John's green jumper and splays his fingers, giving his heated skin a little rub. 

"Ah yes... But that was half an hour ago, John. Have I been in your mind that long? Do I turn you on in nothing but a towel, absolutely soaking beneath?" Sherlock nips at the shell of John's ear and John has to stifle a particularly loud moan. There is a beautiful red blush streaking right across his nose and cheeks, and when he opens his eyes there is barely any colour left in them. Sherlock thinks this is incredibly hot.

Downstairs, there are voices. Mrs. Hudson and two others, a man and a woman. 

"Sher- Shit-" John stutters and purses his lips, dipping his head and breathing raggedly through his nose. Pleasure is starting to build up in his abdomen and there is a tight pressure tugging at his balls. He clenches one hand and raises his head again. It won't be long now. He gives Sherlock a sideward glance and that's all it takes, because suddenly the voices are saying goodbye and Mrs. Hudson is calling up the stairs. With her hip it'll take her at least a minute to get up the entire seventeen steps.

All Sherlock has to do is speed up his hand and then...

John throws his head back and cums, mouth falling open in a silent, relieved cry as his entire body sags against Sherlock's. The taller man cups his hand and lets John empty himself into it. He murmurs sweet nothings against John's neck and places little kisses all along the damp, salty skin there.

There is a moment of quiet when John comes down from his high. He is slack and feels boneless, fingers and toes tingling with little aftershocks and ticklish heat thrumming through his veins in little waves. He is absolutely sated.

And then they remember Mrs. Hudson.

"Crap, Sherlock!"

"Yes yes, calm down." With sticky but steady hands, Sherlock tucks John away and zips him up, buttoning the top of his jeans just as Mrs. Hudson reaches the top of the stairs. 

"Boys? I thought I heard you pottering about up here. No cases today then, Sherlock?" She stops in the doorway of the kitchen and holds up a little biscuit tin. "Oh, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all." Sherlock smiles over his shoulder at her. John can still feel the press of his erection against the back of him. "John was just washing up. Weren't you?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Sherlock has an affectionate side, who knew?" It was the first excuse he could think up. Sherlock huffs against the back of his neck. 

"Well then. My niece and her husband came for a visit just now and dropped me in these biscuits. I think they're a German brand..." Mrs. Hudson moves to the side to put them away. John's just relieved that Sherlock's body is cleverly angled out of sight.

Sherlock pulls away with his back to the landlady, adjusts his... Well, 'jacket', and walks quickly into the bathroom.

John can't help but laugh.


	2. The Crimescene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little trigger warning for mentions of suicide.
> 
> Also this was written very quickly while waiting for the water to heat up. Apologies and whatnot.

**2\. The Crimescene.**

Sherlock stands back from the body on the sofa and hums, tilting his head to the side. John watches him, watches the narrowing of his eyes and the impatient twitch of his fingers. There's no question that he's taking everything in. Though knowing Sherlock, the man probably has it all worked out in his head and is just rounding up the facts into a nice, John's-blog-worthy story.

A moment later, Sherlock smiles and turns to John. He extends his hand towards the body and then glances at Lestrade in the corner of the room. The DI shrugs, not caring whether John looks or not.

"John? Mind taking a quick look over?"

John sighs because he knows exactly why; Sherlock wants to show off, to prove him wrong or point out something ''obvious'' he's missed. He shuffles closer and stops just short of the body. It's a young man, late teens or early twenties at the most.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asks. 

At the door, Lestrade's phone rings. He curses, fumbling with his pockets, and then finally brings it out. He excuses himself from the room and leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

John leans forward and gently tugs the victim's blood-soaked collar aside with gloved fingers. He winces, fingering over the deep stab wound in the centre of his throat. "Lestrade said suicide, yes?"

Sherlock nods. "However...?"

"However," John continues, pushing the other side of the collar down. "There's only one stab wound. If it were suicide there might've been hesitation cuts. But there's just one clean, straight through cut. Though it's hard to know because the neck is a very self-accessible point..."

Sherlock is barely listening. He knows all this already, so he's tuned out. Instead, his focus is on John's backside; he's wearing dark, tight-fit jeans today and they hug his arse perfectly. Sherlock takes a step closer.

"Alcohol on his breath so he could have been knocked out? There's no defensive wounds so that makes that point a possibility."

Again, Sherlock wasn't listening. Instead, he just kept inching closer, a smirk pulling at his lips. Sidling up next to John, he places one hand on his lower back and rubs, fingertips skirting under the bottom of his jumper to stroke across John's smooth skin. John goes still under him for a moment and Sherlock pauses, letting his fingers just rest until John relaxes.

"How did I do?"

"Excellent, John."

"Anything wrong?" John glances at his partner and tries not to make it obvious that he really enjoys this… closeness. At a crime scene too.

"Just minor details I hadn't expected you to spot anyway. You haven't looked at his wrists. Everything you said was right, though. It _was_ murder made to look like suicide. But his wrists," Sherlock gestured with his free hand, "have marks. See them?"

John inches closer, almost stepping into Sherlock's entire space, and nods. "Tied up, then."

Sherlock hums again. Once more he is distracted, though this time it is John's shampoo; some sort of tea-tree and mint concoction that smells heavenly. Before John can utter another word, Sherlock slides his arm around his waist and uses his other hand to twist John around so they are pressed together. John's hands flail for a moment before settling around his neck.

The taller man grins and tilts his head down. His nose bumps off John's, lips barely brushing, and he murmurs against them, "Do you have something for me, John?"

"I'm not sure about myself but you, however…" John raises one eyebrow and trails a hand down Sherlock's front. They pause in the little V of Sherlock's shirt to tease the skin there, before continuing down to rub over Sherlock's crotch. _Oh,_ so that's how john wants to play. Sherlock pushes into his hand, trying to get some sort of friction. Once again, the realization that they are at a crimescene, with a dead body not three feet away from them and a whole forensic team in the hallway beyond dawns on them… Well. 

It seems they both share some sort of sneaky kink. If that exists.

John laughs, the sound quiet and deep in his chest, and he pushes his hand down Sherlock's trousers. His eyebrows immediately shoot up to his hairline. "No underwear? Mr. Holmes, you _are_ a cheeky one."

"Thought you'd appreciate that." Sherlock wets his lips. Is this some sort of payback for almost getting them caught in the kitchen the other day? If so, he definitely thinks this is worth it. He's quiet until the moment John actually wraps his hand around his cock _and_ attaches his lips to his neck. Sherlock moans, eyes squeezing shut, and lets himself be tortured slowly by John.

It's cut short.

Footsteps approach the door beyond. John sighs, nipping at the soft skin of Sherlock's neck, and pulls away. Sherlock is left to tuck his hard cock back into his trousers and zip himself up before anyone comes in. Sure enough the door opens and Lestrade steps in. It doesn't take more than a fleeting glance at the couple to know that they hadn't just been examining the body.

"The team need to take some more photographs if you two are…" Lestrade waves his hand in their direction.

"Drop the files in tomorrow." Sherlock says, standing up straight to fix coat - and hide the tent appearing due to lack of underwear. "And not a moment earlier."

With a spin of his heels, the detective strides out of the room. John follows, catching the DI's amused smile as he passes him, and catches up to Sherlock on the street.

It doesn't take long to find an empty and secluded alleyway.


	3. The Alleyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because John always carries a sachet of lube in his pocket. Naturally.

**3\. The Alleyway**  
  
Sherlock spreads his legs wide as he can for John. It's a bit awkward because his trousers are still around his ankles, stretched to near-ripping point. The soles and very tips of his shoes - "These are _Armani,_ John, for goodness' sake," - scuff against the dirty ground and red-bricked wall. Bracing his hands heavy against it, Sherlock twists his head around to look at John.

"Hurry up!" His hair is curled down over his forehead and his eyes are slightly narrowed. Yet despite his attempts to sound impatient, Sherlock only ends up sounding desperate, obviously unable to keep arousal somewhat out of his voice. 

John gives his bottom a light smack, cool hand on hot skin causing Sherlock to suck in a breath. "Patience is a virtue, love." John smirks at him and Sherlock eventually turns his head away. His hips push back, inviting John, and the shorter man can't resist. He's been teasing Sherlock mercilessly all day; squeezing by him (and pushing their bodies together) to get through a narrow doorway, letting his fingers dip below the back of Sherlock's waistband in the cab, and texting him dirty little things when he was supposed to be picking up food.

Oh yes, Sherlock had been anticipating a lovely shag when they'd gone home. Instead, his impatience did indeed get the better of him, and he ended up pulling John into an empty alleyway in the backend of some rough street, and next thing they knew they were snogging and grinding against each other.

And somehow in the middle of all that, John had managed to get Sherlock stripped of his trousers and pants and upper body pushed up against the wall, with his hips pulled back enough so his dick wasn't touching it.

Sherlock can hear john fumbling about with his pocket and then opening a thin foil sachet. He glances at him as he watches John's fingers dip in and scoop out the clear liquid. Good old John: always prepared. Wetting his lips, Sherlock's eyes follow the movements of John's fingers, watching as he warms it between his fingertips. He wants John's cock but it's far too unhygienic to do that here, and John would probably refuse. Still, he throbs at the mere thought of John inside him.

"John..." He is quite desperate now. He wants John to touch him, to enter him, to let him shut out every other thought. John steps closer, sliding one hand around Sherlock's hips and letting them wander up Sherlock's shirt and splay upon his stomach. His hands are warmer than before and Sherlock sighs, because there are another set of fingers probing at his arse. He can feel his muscles clench and unclench, forcing his body to relax before John does anything. John helps by sliding his hand down to Sherlock's cock and wrapping around it's girth.

Sherlock shivers, closes his eyes, and pushes his hips into John's hand. The feel of his palm against the sensitive head and underside of his cock is enough to elicit the tiniest of groans. He can feel John's fingertip circling against him, gently parting him. God, he wants to tell John to just _get on with it_ already. But he knows John is just prepping him, trying to get him as comfy as possible before actually going in.

Eventually, when Sherlock's breathing starts to deepen, John pushes his middle finger in. Sherlock's tight, and the first few seconds of the intrusion makes him seize up around john's finger just a bit, but he then starts to give way. The lube paves a smoother path for John and he manages to push up to the second knuckle, grinning as Sherlock shudders and breathes out a raggedy, "more."

"You want more, do you?" John glides his finger back and catches sight of Sherlock's fingers curling up against the wall, knuckles white against the dark red bricks. "Two?"

John slides in another finger and hears Sherlock groan. John's trousers feel tighter and his confined dick aches to get free. He thrusts his fingers in hard. Sherlock splutters and for a second John thinks he's going to fall against the wall. But he holds on, twisting his head around to look at John through heavy-lidded eyes. From what John can see in the dim streetlamp light, there's barely any colour _left_ in Sherlock's eyes.

"John!" Sherlock's back jolts and he has to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out because John has found something _very_ nice. "Ah... Again."

John circles his fingers around Sherlock's prostate, pressing and prodding at the firm lump until Sherlock is practically trembling with pleasure. He makes an incoherent noise and looks more directly at John in a silent plea. John understands straight away. The hand that's on Sherlock's cock speeds up, and the sensations become too much for Sherlock. Pushing his head down towards his chest, Sherlock gasps, clamps around John's fingers, and finally he cums with a muffled cry of John's name.

Carefully, John retracts his fingers, going slow so as not to overstimulate or hurt the younger man. When he feels Sherlock's body finally start to loosen up, John then slides his arm around his waist and holds him. He doesn't want to make Sherlock's coat all sticky so, with one hand, he turns him around so they can both slump against the wall.

They hear a crowd passing by on the street and they freeze. Before Sherlock can say anything - not that he can at the minute - John deftly tucks him back into his pants and trousers and zips him up. They're quite far into the alleyway and the cover of night-time is just enough to hide them.

John breathes a sigh of relief when they're once again alone. 

"John. What about you?" Sherlock asks, eyes wandering pointedly down at John's rather uncomfortable-looking crotch. John laughs, pulls Sherlock over by the lapels of his jacket, and kisses him. He whispers against Sherlock's lips.

"On your knees..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Life and social life *gasp* caught up with me.


End file.
